


Two Men Out of Time and Out of Rum

by wtvoc



Series: the Continuing Adventures of Captain Hook and Ichabod Crane [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Man Out of Time, captain crane - Freeform, ouat/sleepy hollow crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 17:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2356070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would seem that Captain Hook and Ichabod Crane have more in common than they might think. This fic is what happens when spanglemaker9 and vickyvicarious egg me on. Sorry I'm not sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Men Out of Time and Out of Rum

At the beckoning wave of his be-ringed fingers, the bartender rolled his eyes and slowly came over.

"Another rum, Captain?"

"Sailor Jerry's this round, if you please. And keep it coming." Killian took a slug from the freshly refilled glass and hissed through his teeth with satisfaction, letting out an exaggerated "ahh." Glancing over at the taciturn man next to him, he stuck his thumb out, indicating that he needed a drink as well. "And one for the ponce here."

"I beg your pardon?" His unwilling companion straightened his back, revealing obvious military training. Killian let a slow, lazy grin curl his mouth as he regarded his companion askance.

"Just calling it like I see it, mate."

"You know nothing of me, friend."

"Oh, we're friends, are we?" Killian's joviality was manufactured, of course, but that was how he faced uncomfortable situations. And this was certainly one of those moments. He found himself being forced to "baby-sit" (what a terrible term; this realm and its butchering of language, its insistence on pithy half-phrases for things and gods, the _acronyms_ ), a position he was only willing to fulfill when it was the young lad Henry or perhaps baby Neal. A grown man with an unkempt queue and insouciant eyebrows? Hardly a task worth relishing.

"I am merely here to see to it that my... that the Lieutenant is well and safe." Killian tilted his head at that, looking over at the man and then over to the lady who had driven them here to the Rabbit Hole; she was at the dartboard with Emma, and the two women seemed thick as thieves already. Emma suddenly looked up as if feeling his gaze; she tossed him a saucy little smirk before letting loose with a dart, her unerring aim finding the middle of the target without her having taken the time to focus or even look. _Minx_ , he thought fondly.

Then he looked over at the diminutive woman standing next to Emma, chugging on a tankard of something dark and brown and regarding the man seated next to him with mirth in her eyes. He looked back and forth between the two of them and grinned wolfishly, drawing his own conclusions rather easily.

"Oh, so it's like that, is it?"

"Like what?" The man's stiff back was as unrelenting as the grim set of his jaw, and Killian sighed deeply. _Ponce_.

"You two are..." He punched the air gently several times, a movement he had once seen on the television box indicating a slightly crude gesture for sex. "Bumping uglies," he thought he'd heard, a somewhat delightful euphemism, to be sure.

The man's eyes widened and Killian could see the moment of comprehension followed immediately by mild effrontery. He had to bite back a laugh, because honestly. What a fucking _prig_.

"If you mean to insinuate that the Lieutenant and I are having relations, I can assure you the answer is no!"

"Ah, not made it that far, eh? Have not yet 'hit it,' as the saying in this realm goes?"

His companion looked ready with a retort when his countenance took on a puzzled expression. "What do you mean by 'this realm?'"

Ah, Killian had not meant to go that far. Swan told him that these two visitors were from New York, but not the same New York he had once traipsed about, looking for her. Same state, different county, some boring place called "Sleepy Hollow," and he supposed he almost knew what she meant. He was indifferent, were he to be honest, only hearing that she had been in contact with a fellow officer of the law and as it turned out, they had much more in common than she could possibly imagine. At the time, he did not listen overmuch to her explanations of why she wanted to meet this Detective Mills because he had been much more enjoyably engaged in applying his mouth to specific parts of her anatomy, so he had missed whatever else she had to say on the subject.

Damn him for getting lost in the pleasures of Emma Swan's naked flesh, because days later found him at the local watering hole next to this uptight wanker who seemed to regard everything around him as odd and suspect, most especially Hook.

"What did you say your name was again, mate?"

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes, his eyebrow on high. _Oh ho, two can play the eyebrow game, mate._ Killian waved the barkeep over once more and grabbed the bottle from him. He reached into an inner pocket and grabbed two doubloons, flipping them out onto the counter top. With a scowl, the barkeep greedily snatched the chinks and flipped his towel over his shoulder before stalking off, muttering about pirates and dwarves and having to constantly check his rum supply.

"Here, then, mate. It looks as though our ladies are in for the long haul. What say we get to know each other, eh?" He refilled his glass and nudged at the other man's still-full glass using the bottom of the bottle. With a withering look followed by a long sigh, the other man picked up his rum between two fingers, actually extending his pinky out to the side. _What's another word for ponce?_ Killian wondered. He hated repeating barbs over and over again.

"Crane," he coughed out. "Ichabod Crane. I hail from Surrey. And you?"

"Jones, Killian Jones. I hail from one of the magical realms. Where is Surrey, anyway?"

"I'm sorry, come again?" Crane turned his head and finally faced Killian fully; his expression was wary, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

Oh, right. This one most likely did not know there were other realms. Excellent work, Hook.

"Er, I mean, England?" Swan once said he sounded English and had to explain things like the Beatles and scones and it all sounded very tight-arsed to him.

Crane nodded slowly, like Killian had just said something rather simple. "Yes, Surrey is in England. Whereabouts in England, sir?"

"Jones. You may call me Jones. Or Captain, if you prefer."

"Jones, then." Crane pursed his lips a moment before adding, "My family's country seat is called Ravenswood." Oh, great. A bloody little proper lord. No _wonder_ he was so uptight. No wonder he and the beautiful woman currently going toe-for-toe with his Swan at—now the pool table— had not yet done the deed.

He ignored the small, sneering voice in his head reminding him that it took over two years to get Emma Swan to reciprocate his feelings, but he drowned that voice with another swig, this time straight from the rum bottle. He decided to goad the tight-arse, because what else was there to do?

"She's quite beautiful, your detective. She has a—glow about her." He waved his hand for effect and leered, making sure the man saw it. Predictably, Crane stiffened visibly. Must be those "skinny jeans" he was sporting; they were terrifically rough on a man's parts.

"She is not _my_ detective, Jones."

"Hmm. Lovely lass like that. Perhaps I should go over there and..."

" _Captain_ Jones." Crane rounded on him and actually poked him in the chest. "I shall thank you to keep your comments about Miss Mills to yourself. Besides," and here he grinned wide, "she told me that you and Miss Swan were—as they say—an item. I do not appreciate your attempts at subterfuge, friend."

"Fair enough, mate." Killian sipped at his rum this time and noticed with inexplicable pleasure that Crane had finished off his own drink. Refilling it without having been asked, he once again turned to regard the ladies playing pool and his eyes widened; damn, but Swan presented a fine view as she bent over to line up a shot. Down her shirt. Straight down her shirt, where anyone could see!

As if she could read his thoughts, she looked up and met his eye, cocking her eyebrow at him. Once again, she made the shot without looking and sank it right in. He saw the detective groan and reach into her pocket for that ridiculous paper currency this realm was so fond of.

"Your sheriff seems a formidable enough woman."

"You've no idea, mate."

"With nice... attributes." Killian would have stuck a dagger in the man's gullet were he not so amused by his prim tone.

"If you're referring to the low cut top, well. I couldn't agree with you more. The women of this time have a wonderful sort of independence of fashion that I have come to admire."

"Quite."

They each sipped in silence for a moment.

"Forgive me," Crane began after seeming to gather his thoughts. "But did you say 'the women of this time?'" He was eying Killian from his periphery, making him flinch inwardly. He certainly didn't give a fuck about who knew of his history, but he did acknowledge that not everyone would be at peace with the idea of a man who had lived for several centuries, so he knew he had to tread with caution. Unfortunately, rum in vast quantities tended to render his tongue a bit loose and his inner compass even looser, so he decided to throw caution fuck-all to the wind and rattle the gent a bit. He seemed like he could use a good rattle.

"Indeed. I'm from a different era. Whole different bloody realm, if you want to know the truth of it. Allow me to re-introduce myself. Captain Hook. From the story books, you know. Pirate and all that." He produced his left arm and shook his hook enticingly, smirking and challenging the fellow with a lifted brow.

Crane in turn lifted his and smiled softly. "So that is what Miss Mills was implying. Apparently, we do have something in common. Ichabod Crane, also of story book fame. Although I've not read yours—not very popular, was it?"

"Not very—" Killian sputtered, briefly at a loss for words, an experience not often known to him. He sat up a bit and regarded the little lord with interest. "I've bloody well never heard of you, either, mate. Musn't have been a good tale."

Crane didn't like that. "I'll have you know, I fight headless horsemen and am tasked with ending the apocalypse!"

Killian rolled his eyes. "I've vanquished murderous eternal teenagers and terrorized the seas of numerous realms in search of vengeance." He refilled Crane's glass and to his dismay discovered the bottle empty. He gestured at the barkeep for another and tossed a handful of coins onto the bar.

"I was an officer in his majesty's royal army before turning spy for the other side."

"I was an officer in his majesty's royal navy when I commandeered one of the vessels of his armada, turning her into the best pirate ship that ever sailed any sea."

"I've communed with the dead."

Killian leaned in and poked the prig in the chest. "I gave up everything for a woman."

Crane eyed Emma across the room and smiled. "Worth it, I take it?"

"You bet your poncy arse."

Crane grunted softly in acknowledgment and leaned back, looking relaxed for the first time the entire evening. When Killian went to refill his companion's glass, he again came up empty-handed; gesturing at the barkeep for more, the man merely shrugged and brought over one of the lesser brands of rum. Good thing he was an obliging pirate these days; time was, he'd sink his hook into a man's jugular for not keeping his favorite brands well-stocked.

With a sigh, Killian looked over at the two women who seemed to each be counting a large stack of paper bills as two disgruntled seedy-looking types skulked away. He winked at one of them as they passed, causing them to stop.

"Help you with something, _Captain_?" the larger of the two sneered.

"Just wondering what it feels like to be bested by the sheriff, mate," he slurred jovially.

"I dunno, I was way too busy enjoying the view. Your Sheriff Swan has a good set of tits, and that new girl is one hot piece of—"

Killian felt an itch in his arm and he was about to raise his hook in a threatening posture when he felt a swish of fabric at his back. Before he could so much as turn, Crane, seeming much taller and more intimidating than while seated, was at his side and glowering at the man.

"You will apologize at once."

"Come again?"

"Apologize, sirrah. For the rude words regarding the ladies. It's hardly their fault your ineptitudes at the gaming tables availed them of your pocket money. And it certainly does not excuse such foul comments on their figures. So, I say again. Apologize for speaking of them in such a way."

Killian just blinked; it might have been a pretty speech back whenever he came from, but he could see that the two drunkards were far from impressed. Shame, really; with a little training, Crane might really give a good set-down, what with those excellent eyebrows he sported.

The two men looked at each other before barking in simultaneous laughter.

"Fuck off, buddy. Captain, who knew you were keeping such pussy company these days? I knew you'd gone soft, but—"

"Right. Name your seconds."

"Huh?"

"Your seconds, sir. I'm calling you out."

"Calling me out for what? What the hell are you talking about?"

Crane was turning red, and Killian could actually see him attempting to subdue his own ire, which was impressive, because he, too, was fairly angered. No one talked about his Swan that way, and he guessed no one talked about Miss Mills that way, either. Suddenly, he came to a decision.

"He's bloody challenging you to a duel, you git." Killian stood and folded his arms. "I'm his second, meaning his back-up, to use your parlance. Is this _gentleman_ ," and here he regarded the lesser of the two men with a sneer, "to serve as yours? Because if so, the two of us need to discuss weapons. I can find pistols, should you choose, but I daresay swords are more my fancy."

The two drunk imbeciles stared at Killian, one of them opening and closing his mouth like a codfish. Killian had to suppress the urge to laugh.

"Well? We haven't all night. I suppose an apology to our ladies will do, but only if you march your fat asses over there and beg their forgiveness. You won't deserve it, but they're all grace and kindness and will most likely forgive nonetheless." He could feel Crane nodding along and felt an odd sort of camaraderie with the man. Must be the rum.

The lesser drunk was nodding sycophantically and even turned to perhaps apologize, but then the bigger one sneered, and Killian felt a drop in his gut a half second before the idiot opened his mouth. Not good.

"I don't apologize to sluts. Whatever you—"

Before Killian could even react, Crane delivered an impressively solid punch right in the man's face. Killian grinned, wide and full, and just as he decided to join the sudden fracas that had erupted throughout the entire bar, he managed to catch Swan's eyes, which were rolling at him as she mouthed, "really?" He could practically hear the fond incredulity in her tone, and that simply iced the cake of an evening this Crane fellow had suddenly created for him.

"Wotcher!" he hollered, sinking his hook into a chair that was about to be snapped across Crane's back; Crane was far too busy curling his arm around some newcomer's neck to keep his eyes aft. The chair broke before it could make purchase and Hook swung himself around, elbowing the man in the nose.

As he gleefully allowed the surge of the crowd and the surge of rum carry him into a happy dance of pure, unabashed rioting, he took the time to remark to his new drinking partner, "You know, you're not so bad, Crane."

"Likewise, Captain."

**Author's Note:**

> i wanna write about these two forever


End file.
